


Wolves Who Are Sheepish

by Tsushi



Series: Vampire AU [3]
Category: Lupin III
Genre: Hunter Zenigata, M/M, Vampire AU, Werewolf Jigen, the pycal mention is extremely brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsushi/pseuds/Tsushi
Summary: A young amateur Hunter-in-training, Zenigata finds he’s out of his league when he encounters a rampaging werewolf Jigen and both of them nearly die. Years later, the two men meet again.This is part of my Vampire Lupin AU series.
Relationships: Jigen Daisuke & Zenigata Kouichi, Jigen Daisuke/Zenigata Kouichi
Series: Vampire AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004400
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Wolves Who Are Sheepish

Zenigata grew up in a town that was haunted by a specter of death. As a young boy he understood that sometimes, people in your small community would be found dead, bodies drained completely of blood. Life was filled with these little tragedies, and it was so commonplace that he accepted it as an inevitability.

And whenever one of these unfortunate bodies was found, folks would shake their heads slowly, muttering how, if only the wretch might have been more careful, their grisly fate might have been avoided. People would scold the children about being out after dark, for after all, it was something that was one’s own fault. People knew what could happen, and so each was responsible for their own fate. This way of life had not troubled Zenigata much. Not until he was a teenager, and his own mother was found murdered.

He could hear the way they spoke about it, their sympathies always poisoned by condemnation. His mother was in the wrong, even if her death was sad. In time his tears changed to frustration, that a murderer got off scot-free while victims took the blame, and he left town on a one-man crusade. He knew nothing then about confronting an immortal monster, only that he wanted revenge.

Zenigata had heard stories of people who knew how to take on a supernatural threat, and he was eager to find anyone who would teach him. He spent a couple months under the wing of an arrogant showman who called himself a vampire hunter. The would-be hunter talked big, face serious, hair spilling over one of his eyes. He had built some fancy device inside his sleeves, and the fire which sprang from it was a helpful tool for repelling all sorts of opponents.

A few years later Zenigata would be able to tell the signs of a liar. He would recognize those who knew enough to con people into buying their services, who ran off without dispatching the threat. Sometimes it was enough just to look the part. But he was still a rookie, so he had taken all the instruction he had the patience to get. But he could only wait so long, knowing that each day he spent meant someone else might be dead. His short term mentor declined to join him for a job with no reward, though he wished him luck.

Thus an ill equipped young man with a sharpened stake showed up uninvited to the lair of his town’s multi-generational phantom. As unprepared as he was, the vampire was unprepared as well. It resided in a charming, small, and defenseless little cottage, seeming to see little point in preparation against its toast and eggs. Zenigata was lucky to find no thralls or guards when he, as instructed by his flashy mentor, approached in the bright midday sun, a burning torch in his hand.

He met with no resistance as he dragged the coffin out. His strong arms wrenched open the heavy lid, he threw the torch inside, and let flames consume it. He stood, watching, hearing the blood curdling scream of the creature as it burned down to ash.

Zenigata had assumed that guilt would overtake him. But what he felt instead was a weight lifting from his chest. He no longer felt powerless in the world. Creatures like this could terrorize people for decades if left to their own devices, but that now he could end them with his own hands. He wasn’t going to let monsters run the world, or let anyone else live with this being inevitable like he had. In the months that followed, he moved from town to town, trying to gather supplies and find more people he could help. He relied on the kindness of locals and on his strong arms. He could chop wood for a while, lift a few things, earn himself a place to stay.

One day, he came across a town where the rumors flowed like water. Rumors about local livestock torn apart by a large animal on the full moon. And of course, Zenigata was foolhardy enough to offer to investigate them.

In a dark field on a moonlit night, above a flock of noisy sheep, he waited in a tree. He saw the gruesome deed with his own eyes, a beast at least 8 feet tall, ripping through wool, muscles, and bones, while the other animals bleated and scattered in fear. Zenigata stayed as still as he could, but his body was shaking as he watched.

The flashy mentor had told him very little about these creatures. Zenigata racked his memory for anything useful, but the only facts that he had were horrific. These beasts emerged on nights with a full moon in the sky, with a strength that could outpace a vampire’s. They looked like a towering wolf often on two legs, and could heal any wound, save for those made with silver. He stayed hidden in the tree long after the wolf had gone, and when Zenigata finally came down, he was still feeling dazed.

This job was more dangerous than he’d agreed to, but when they saw him the next day, the people in town still begged for his help. Silver was expensive, so he took odd jobs for blacksmiths, trying to get together a tool to handle it. He figured a silver bullet would be the most effective, however a gun was far beyond him in terms of price and skill.

But the people of the town were not the sorts to sit idly by, either. One day, a wealthy farmer stopped by Zenigata’s room at the inn. He was looking to invest in protection for his herd, and presented Zenigata with a crossbow. It weighed heavy in his hands, but was made from study stock, and Zenigata set to work fashioning bolts for it. He practiced his aim while he waited for another full moon. His shots started to hit closer to the target, and he found comfort in the way people smiled at him now, people who trusted him to protect them. And he, naive enough to to believe he could.

When he’d saved up enough, he bought silver from the blacksmiths in town: enough to coat three bolt tips and a small, thin dagger. It would be a last resort, for if he was close enough to use it, it was too late to save himself. But it would not be too late to save the others. It fired him up, heart swelling with pride. He wasn’t going to let another boy go motherless. He believed that, maybe, if he just worked hard enough and long enough, he could save the world with his own two hands.

But that night with the moon bright in the sky, he would learn a painful lesson in humility. 

He was low in a gnarled apple tree, watching the werewolf pound across the expansive field at an incredible speed. The monster finally caught up to its prey and began to feast, giving Zenigata the time to hop from the branches and crouch his way closer, time to line up his shot. The closer he moved, the more difficult it was to stop his hands from shaking. The animal was massive and the sound of its heaving breath and bone crunching noises got louder and louder in the cool night air. Goosebumps rose on the back of his neck.

He did his best to steel his resolve. The villagers gave him this crossbow because they were counting on him. He felt in his heart it was only a matter of time before creatures like this would do the same thing to a human being. Beast, vampire, it made no difference, they saw humans as disposable. He knew it might turn at any moment and make that true immediately.

He had to fire. Now, while he had the element of surprise on his side. He had to pull the trigger, but even before he did it all dawned on him that he had made a terrible mistake. This was out of his league, his plan was absurd, there was no way he was going to succeed. But there was no point in stopping. It would see him either way. Might as well take the first shot.

The shot left the crossbow and lodged deep into the beast’s shoulder. It waved its paws, trying to reach the spot and remove the offending object, toes curling in an eerily human-line manner. It fell to the ground, writhing, clawing into its own skin, trying to dig the bolt free. It howled so loudly that Zenigata found himself transfixed, completely unable to move, watching the pitiful thing as it rolled around, kicking up clumps of dirt and weeds.

This time, the guilt did hang heavy on him. He wanted to reach out and pull the bolt out himself. But the way it was thrashing, he couldn’t get close without being struck by one of those huge limbs. He started to back away slowly, and remembered the crossbow still in his hands. He had two more silver tipped bolts. He could end this.

He slotted another bolt into place and tried to aim for its head, from this position it seemed like this was an easy shot. But hearing the way it groaned and whimpered. He couldn’t do it. He dropped the bow to the ground and moved close to it, shaking as he did and taking a few painful blows from the struggling creature.

He reached quickly into the thick, matted fur. He grabbed the butt of the bolt and pulled hard. The animal roared with fresh vigor, turned toward him with vengeful rage, and lifted him from the ground.

The snarling beast’s teeth gleamed white in the light of the full moon. Its jaws were dripping with saliva and its bloodshot eyes were fixed on him, unreadable, but at the same time, all too human.

Zenigata fumbled the dagger from his belt, knowing it could tear him limb from limb at any second. He plunged it deep where he thought its heart was. But the attack only seemed to add to the creature’s fury. Zenigata could do nothing as it tore into him like a soft, ripe fruit. Life flowing out from the broken skin on his back, the two falling to the ground in a deadly embrace.

Or at least Zenigata had thought it would be deadly, as his vision blurred into nothingness. The next morning he woke in the grass, barely able to move, nudged alert by the nose of an inquisitive sheep. His slow shallow breaths kept him from disturbing any of his wounds too much. He found to his surprise that he was so grateful to be breathing at all, that he could push himself to crawl slowly to the side of the road. He felt strangely calm, strangely triumphant. 

He had survived.

He wasn’t able to tell how much time had passed, drifting in and out. But eventually he woke up in a bed, being cared for by a doctor. He took well over a month to heal fully, and as soon as he started taking on real hunting jobs and succeeding, he sent much of the money he got to that doctor. He continued doing so for many years, years in which he gained quite a reputation for his effectiveness as a hunter and willingness to do the job even without pay if necessary.

-

The werewolf had also had a long road to recovery. The place where the dagger embedded in his chest was a searing pain, but when he was transformed, the wolf barely had the presence of mind to notice. The inside of its mind was rage and discomfort, painful in the same way any physical wound was, and the two feelings were two voices that screamed, drowning each other out in cacophony.

The wolf didn’t understand mortality, nor did it fear for its life. It had only blinding agony and anger and the ceaseless cry of that which drove it onwards, deep into the woods, where it carved a path of deeply scored trees and broken branches, enacting a more animalistic version of someone beating their own head against the wall, trying to make it stop.

It wasn’t until Jigen woke up the next morning, shivering and gasping, with a dagger still in his chest so close to his heart, that was when he was conscious of the pain and where it came from. He tried to reach up and pull it free, but touching it burned his palm like acid, and he cried out hoarsely at his own stupidity.

He barely managed the focus to coat his hands in a thin barrier of moist earth. It wasn’t thick enough to spare his hand more damage, but he did yank the accursed thing free and hurl it as far away as he could manage. He heard exactly where it fell with uncomfortable accuracy.

It must have been in someone’s hands before it was buried inside of him, and as he lay there panting, trying to steady himself and disperse the gutting feeling overwhelming his senses, he tried to picture the face. Recall the events of the night before.The form that would overtake him once a month was new enough that he was still not fully sure what was happening to him, or what he was capable of. He only knew it was a nightmare. 

The first time it happened, his bedroom at the local inn was all smashed furniture and torn sheets, like it had been robbed by particularly vindictive crooks. But he found nothing stolen. Just a room in shambles, and strange snippets of memory that deeply troubled him, of some furious beast coursing under his skin that tore the room apart as it fought its way out of him.

Jigen had felt on edge ever since then. His normally cool-headed silence was now interrupted at times by a strong temper, as he found himself snapping at things he usually would have ignored. To settle himself, he took up smoking. He felt like if he had too strong a reaction that would be whistle to summon the beast.

In the following month, many nights he woke in his bed sweating and breathless, from dreams where he was running, chasing something single-mindedly. While it was not a nightmare, it was hard to call the dreams pleasant. And on the next night of the full moon, he woke in the woods near town, naked and covered in blood, a disgusting taste in his mouth.

He recalled few details of the nights he went out, but he felt fairly certain he had only killed some chickens or sheep. The gore was disgusting to recall, but he thankfully never recalled a human face, only the scared noises of an animal about to be slaughtered.

Until now. As he pieced through the hazy details, something flew behind the wolf, something stung its back, like an angry hornet, and it had turned, and in his memory he saw a man about his age, his pretty brown eyes full of terror.

He no longer felt safe around the full moon. He had lost himself completely to this thing.

He remembered its heavy paws slashing through flesh, and felt sick. As much as he hoped that he was wrong, anyone who was that close, close enough to stab the beast with the little dagger, must have been dead. He was a monster.

Though the burns from the silver were agonizing, he was already healing. He could feel himself recovering his strength at an alarming pace. Soon, the only traces left were scars, at least physically. Emotionally, he felt as if he never wanted to stand up ever again.

He was a murderer, and that was all he could think about. Rampaging and out of his own control. He should do the world a favor, and just lay here and starve. 

But he also really wanted a smoke.

He had taken to camping out in the woods the night before the full moon and, to save himself the trouble of replacing clothing, he slept naked. He knew his way to the makeshift tent, and he pulled himself off the ground in a bit of a daze.

He had hoped this would spare him from being found, and having the worst happen. He couldn’t hurt anyone if he didn’t see anyone. So where did this guy come from? And why would anyone in their right mind confront that thing...?

His pack was hung up in a nearby tree, and he rummaged around it until he found his tin of tobacco. He lit his pipe, and pulled a blanket close to his dirty skin. This time he felt sure that not all the blood was from some animal, it was nauseating. He smoked everything in the tin before he moved again.

And when he did, he stood up only to find the dagger. He knew where to find it, looking somewhat dull from the browned blood now coating it, laying on a bed of decaying pine needles. Reaching down to touch it, like putting your finger into a candle flame, he had a thought. 

Chains. If only he could gather up enough silver for chains, he could lay underneath them and the beast would be contained. It would hurt, hurt like hell probably... but he would barely remember it, and he would heal, and if that’s what it took to take control again, he would do anything.

He pushed the dagger into his pack, taking some care not to touch it. He cleaned himself up as best he could, then started his journey back to the nearest town. He had a goal, and now... he already had blood on his hands. What was a bit more?

The more unsavory the job, the better he would be paid.

-

Many years had passed, and the fresh scars on each man had faded into their aging skin. 

It was a dark night, the moon was only a thin crescent, soon to disappear completely. It was a time of the cycle when Jigen felt the most safe from the pull of his lurking temper. A time he often felt like celebrating, drinking and gambling away his money all night long without risk.

Jigen had a gun noticeably hanging in a holster at his belt, and his well-tailored yet durable coat was good at keeping out the rain and wind. He always wore a soft black hat that was slightly too large. It drooped down and obscured his eyes. He enjoyed the soothing sensation of his thoughts and feelings not being so exposed and even in his human body, his nose was stronger than his eyes. 

Jigen could smell him before he saw him. That man in the long leather overcoat. He looked like he had seen several hard lifetimes. Worn down against the grit just like himself. His mouth curled up into a smile. He remembered only flashes of that night, but he was sure he had killed the man. One less corpse on his conscience, it was a kind of relief he rarely felt.

Bittersweet in a way, thinking he had killed him that had changed the course of his whole life. His death had given Jigen some kind of internal permission to kill people he was hired to kill. Maybe if he had known, he wouldn’t feel such a weight on his soul, but he didn’t blame it on him. He couldn’t imagine his life otherwise. He had regrets, but his choices were his own.

He could tell the man had become more dangerous, and if he was smart, Jigen wouldn’t do anything to garner added attention from him. Leave him to drink in peace, and find a new place to drift off to and offer his services. 

However, Jigen was sometimes a man far more reckless and curious than he was smart.

Jigen lifted a hand in introduction, and sat down across the table from the tipsy vampire hunter who was currently nursing a large beer. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Zenigata narrowed his eyes, studied the small, but somehow threatening man for motives. “I’m sure I know you from somewhere...”

Jigen scratched contemplatively at his short wiry beard, thoughtful but grinning, “I get that a lot. I get around. Name’s Daisuke Jigen, body guard, mercenary, hunter, odd jobs. If it pays, I’ve probably done it.”

“Daisuke Jigen? I do think I’ve heard of a hunter with that name... but where would I have seen you?” 

“Could be a dozen different places,” Jigen shrugged and gave a casual smile. He had always wondered about the man’s name, who he was, what he was doing out in the field that night, as green and frightened as Jigen was at the time, “And you are?”

Zenigata’s face was still stony, distrustful, he offered just one word and put out a wary hand to shake. “Zenigata.”

Jigen moved fast to take the man’s large hand in a friendly gesture, he made contact with Zenigata’s palm for only a moment before pulling away with a startled gasp, shaking his hand and hissing as if he’d been stung.

Zenigata wore a silver ring for exactly this reason. He also had an iron one on another finger. Most people barely noticed, and if they did, they simply assumed it was flashy eccentricity, not a well designed warning system for some of the supernatural creatures that were far better at seeming human.

“Don’t make a scene in front of all these innocent people. Just calmly tell me why you sat down with me and I’ll let you leave alive.” Zenigata spoke evenly but his gaze was harsh and intense.

Jigen tilted his hat up, eyes meeting eyes, studying the sullen face, a memory flooded back to Jigen, a hot flash of pain in his back, so blinding that the beast couldn’t do anything, and remembering the way the man in front of him had taken pity on it and pulled out the bolt. He wondered if he was still a compassionate man, so brave, or so stupid, or both.

“I recognized you too.” Jigen said, as honestly as he could, still managing a half smile.

“So you heard of my reputation and wanted to poison me?” 

Zenigata had to always be cautious. Many people were extremely grateful to him for his hard work, he was regularly given gifts and drinks but there were a lot of very powerful vampires and their like who were wealthy, and with money, you could hire assassins, bribe authorities, and more.

“Nah. You’ve tried to kill me before, and I thought I had killed you. I was... honestly just happy to see you were still breathing. I wanted to buy you a drink, really,” Jigen laughed. 

They both had tried, so the whole thing seemed evened out in his mind.

Zenigata was trying to deny his own instinct of where he recognized this man from, but inside he knew he couldn’t forget that night so many years ago. As soon as the man had lifted his hat, he knew who he was just by his bloodshot brown eyes. He sometimes saw them in his nightmares, his subconscious mind bringing him back to a time he felt so powerless. Unable to do his job. 

But he loathed how guilty he still felt at the thought of it. He would never go after a werewolf that had no reports of killing humans now. Just a few dead sheep, as far as he knew. It was nothing. Back then he had no experience, no idea of punishment in proportion, he was caught up in an imaginary revenge fantasy for something that werewolf hadn’t even done.

But showing weakness now, not knowing a thing about what that werewolf had done since, was a dangerous prospect. Zenigata didn’t dare let his guard down for a sentimental memory. It might have been a mistake then, but it might be the right choice now. He said nothing, just watched the other man’s face.

“So you must have improved, seeing as you’re pretty old for a hunter.” Jigen smirked and leaned in teasingly. “I better watch my back.”

Zenigata felt more guilt stinging him, and blushed. He hadn’t been flustered like this in years and he wasn’t sure what had brought it to the surface.

“You should if you have a guilty conscience.” Zenigata accused.

“I can’t imagine living a life like yours and not having one yourself.” Jigen fished in his pocket for his pipe and tobacco tin.

“I’m doing the best I can.” 

Zenigata felt defensive, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was that vampire he’d met recently, Lupin III... troubling his thoughts. Making him feel unsure of his mission after all this time. Jigen tapped some tobacco into his pipe and struck a match. 

He didn’t betray much expression as he said, “I believe you.”

Zenigata still felt unsatisfied with Jigen’s explanation. “So why are you really here?”

“You haunted me. But I guess you were never a ghost to begin with. Maybe ghosts are just something in your mind... ya know...?” Jigen drew in some smoke and exhaled slowly.

Zenigata’s face softened and he leaned closer, to take a slow sip of his beer. “It depends... but I understand what you mean...”

Jigen coughed a bit as he began to laugh, “You thought you killed me too. So don’t you think it’s kinda a weight off of you?”

Zenigata gave a small nod. He sipped his beer and the two shared a silence for a few moments before he finally spoke, “I suppose it is. Good to be alive.”

“Well, let’s not get too carried away,” Jigen smirked, amused by his own joke.

Zenigata finally let himself chuckle back. Things had been more complicated lately and it was somewhat soothing to stop thinking so hard about his job, maybe he could make a friend instead. Plus, he had some investigating to do and this seemed like a perfect person to ask.

Zenigata took a large swig from his drink, hoping to loosen up, and waved to the bartender for another for Jigen. “So, have you hunted vampires?”

“Some, yeah. Why?” 

Jigen had planned to buy the drinks, Zenigata had done him the favor of surviving, he felt he might as well pay him back. But he wasn’t going to complain. Free booze was free booze.

“Have you heard anything about a Lupin?”

“Lupin...? Is the reward big?”

Zenigata huffed, “No. No one would dare put up a reward for them. They’d be killed just for offering. It’s one of the most dangerous vampire strongholds I’ve ever seen. Three generations, they practically run the whole area.”

Zenigata’s face creased into a deep frown. He knew that handling them would be the most difficult thing he ever tackled. Even getting information had been fraught with risk and meddling from the Third.... Finding an information source drained dry as a show of force was enough to make him more and more cautious.

“I usually only do this stuff for money. But that sounds like an interesting challenge. Kinda intrigues me.” 

Jigen grinned and took the beer that the bartender had brought over, drinking about half the contents in a single stretch before setting it back on the tabletop.

At the thought of the Third getting torn to pieces by a werewolf, Zenigata felt a twinge of something twisting in his stomach. Protectiveness? Nonsense. Why would a mortal have to protect a vampire? And even beyond that, wasn’t killing all three of them exactly what he was hoping to do?

He pushed the feeling down with an exaggerated bravado, “Only if I don’t beat you to it.”

Zenigata’s chest felt tight from the thought that anyone might beat him to this. Lupin had become so personal to him before he had even realized it. He was doing his best to deny that he felt something, maybe it was just sympathy... after their multiple encounters. He had been teased, thwarted, but there was that kiss, it was difficult to forget. But he sure as hell was not going to tell this to some guy he just met.

His entire reputation as a vampire hunter was on the line if people learned he was close to one. Let alone if he had... feelings for one. It would leave him vulnerable and compromised. The whole thing was probably just a game to the Third. But it would leave other people vulnerable as well if he didn’t rid the world of their iron grip on a whole region.

He ordered another drink and finished the one in front of him in short order. He needed this. Maybe just one night to stop thinking so much about him.

“You know I was in bed for weeks after all that, so I didn’t ever go back to look for you... to be sure I had killed you. But I felt sure enough, the reports of attacks stopped. It was good enough proof for the villagers, so I just accepted it.”

“I didn’t want to get caught at the crime scene, so I couldn’t go back. But I felt sure you were dead. I just didn’t want to see it.” Jigen looked briefly sullen, but quickly replaced it with a grin.

“I guess we’re immortal. There’s no proof we’re not.”

“Yeah, since we’ve never died, we both qualify as immortal, huh?” Zenigata laughed. It was absurd to imagine himself with that kind of power, but at the same time sometimes he imagined often what it might be like. He had to do his best to get into the mindset of the vampires he went after, and their lack of conception of time in the same way was one of the hallmarks of their behavior. Plenty of vampires were ill tempered and quick to anger, but rarely did you meet a truly IMPATIENT vampire... time was on their side.

Stop thinking about the job....

He had emptied another glass, his cheeks burned already from holding a smile for so long, the way his mouth felt sore from how much the two of them were laughing at each other’s jokes. Not that they were that funny, but they were slowly getting drunk and laughter flowed much more smoothly when the other person was handsome and alluring. The two laughed over the fact that they were both planning on staying at this inn. That maybe they should save some money. Share a bed.

Once they were upstairs sitting on the bed, the room lit by flickering candle light, the whole thing wasn’t making him laugh anymore. The atmosphere was quieter, but still not silent, the din of people drinking and singing downstairs was only somewhat muffled by the door.

Zenigata hadn’t had much time to focus on romance in the past few years. He felt rusty, somewhat ashamed for how much he was hesitating just to place a hand on Jigen’s knee. Jigen grinned, blushing just a little, but he put a hand under Zenigata’s chin and forced them to make eye contact.

“What’s wrong? You nervous?”

Zenigata was drunk enough to be honest. “Nervous that I’m going to be extremely disappointing.” 

“You’re surprisingly cute for a guy with a face like that,” Jigen laughed, “don’t worry so much. It’s not about impressing me, it’s about having a good time.”

“What do you mean a face like that? Cute?” Zenigata wasn’t sure if he was insulted or flattered, but either way he was embarrassed.

Jigen took off his shirt, revealing a chest that was covered all over with fresh-looking ugly scars, as well as scars that looked like chains burned into his bronze skin. Zenigata’s eyes went to a smaller, older scar, a knife wound on the upper left side of his chest. He knew right away that it was from their previous meeting. Jigen must have noticed the way his eyes had moved, and teasingly smirked.

“You gonna stare at it or do you want to kiss it and make it better?”

Zenigata leaned closer and pressed his lips to the spot softly, making Jigen shiver.

“So does it feel better?” Zenigata managed to ask with a bit of confidence in his smile.

“Definitely.” Jigen said in a lower husky tone.”Maybe one or two more though…”

——

The next morning was the first time either of them had fallen asleep next to someone in a year. Jigen didn’t want to wake him early, but the warmth of another body was comforting, it was common for him to wake up in the middle of the night, and having someone next to him, it made it just a little easier to fall back into sleep. He risked moving and pressed his soft cheek against Zenigata’s bare back.

Claw scars. The beast’s claw scars.

He knew he was still the same monster, ferocious, merciless. He felt nothing but shame looking at those scars. But at least he had a cage for it now, even if it was painful. He had it contained. He would never let it happen again. If he killed someone, he wanted it to be something he was in control of, not some vague memory of an unfortunate bystander. He traced the raised skin lightly with his lips, and Zenigata sighed gently.

Zenigata opened his mouth before he opened his eyes, he muttered, still a bit drowsy, “I never slept with a werewolf before. You’re more gentle than I expected...”

Jigen felt embarrassed about being called out and deferred quickly to a joke. “That you know of. Maybe everyone you’ve ever slept with is a werewolf.”

Zenigata took it good-naturedly, he chuckled and turned onto his back, separating himself from Jigen’s beard which was starting to tickle him.

“So... what are you planning to do next?” Zenigata’s arm was slung behind head as they lay next to each other.

Jigen rolled over him playfully and put his hands on either side of Zenigata’s face, staring straight down with an intense competitive light to his eyes.

“You know, I’m thinking about that Lupin thing you mentioned. I wanna go find out how immortal I really am. So. Game on, Old Man.”

Zenigata’s voice caught in his throat as he stared up at those brown eyes. In his nightmares, they still held something dangerous and untamed. But right at this moment, he was afraid of something entirely new.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks goes to my wife for editing and to Bones for always giving me very good or very bad ideas.
> 
> My apologies to the Pycal fans, I promise to make it up to you and have a fic that actually features him more eventually lol


End file.
